


Stone number one

by soy_em



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, Hallucifer, Hurt Sam Winchester, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Season/Series 07, Sharing a Bed
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-10
Updated: 2017-07-10
Packaged: 2018-11-30 12:05:10
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,667
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11463234
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/soy_em/pseuds/soy_em
Summary: Pressing on his scar helps Sam to cope with Lucifer's presence, but not nearly as much as being near Dean helps.





	Stone number one

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Nisaki](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nisaki/gifts).



> For Nisaki, who wanted: 
> 
> **Wincest, hallucinating Sam + hand holding and/or bed sharing. I just want Dean taking care of broken wall! Sam <3 **
> 
> Hope this fits :D

It’s been a month and a half since Sam first saw Lucifer, and it’s almost old news by now. Almost. 

He’s found his ways of coping. The scar on his hand, Dean’s stone number one. A hefty re-investment in the maelstrom of feelings he’d felt during his teenage years, when he’d been able to steadily ignore unpleasant people at will (sulking, Dean had called it). A healthy dose of Winchester stubbornness, and the inherited ability to drown himself in work. 

But above all else, Dean. 

Dean might think that the scar is most important, but really it’s the memory of Dean pressing on the scar that makes it work. Better than that is Dean within his sightline, and even more helpful is Dean touching him; a friendly hand on his shoulder or their arms brushing together as they walk doing more to dispel Lucifer than a million busy days. 

Best of all would be Dean holding onto the scar again, or just holding on to Sam, really; but Sam hasn’t quite worked up the nerve to ask for that yet. 

***

He suffers through another two weeks. It’s getting harder to sleep; nightmares come so frequently and he’s always so, so cold. Dean wakes up, sometimes, when the nightmares are happening; if he does, he wakes Sammy, waits until he’s calmed down and sometimes even strokes Sam’s hair until he falls asleep again. Its wonderful, and it’s not what Sam needs.

***

Sam’s sitting in their motel room. Or at least he thinks he is; he doesn’t remember motel rooms being this cold in the middle of summer, and Lucifer is grinning at him from across the room. He’s doing handstands and cartwheels, and bouncing across the beds in a desperate attempt to get Sam’s attention back on him.

Sam is focused on his research into Dick Roman. They seem to have hit a brick wall in terms of publically available information; he’s brushing up on his hacking skills to see if he can break into Richard Roman Ent. systems. It seems like their only hope of a breakthrough at the moment.

Over the past few weeks, the level of concentration required to delve into the latest hacking techniques and learn the latest code would have been more than enough to let him keep Lucifer at bay. But Sam can almost feel his resolve weakening day by day, and Dean’s been out for hours. The noise Lucifer is making is starting to trickle into his brain, tickling at his concentration, and setting Sam’s teeth on edge.

Sam is close to breaking and phoning Dean when he brother breezes into the room, bringing fresh air and the faint smell of barbeque with him. Dean dumps two paper bags on the table, both almost see-through with grease, and hands Sam a small ice-cream tub.

“Treat time Sammy!” he says cheerfully. “Since you’ve been such a good boy, I’ll let you have dessert before dinner.”

Sam scowls at him on principle, but warmth unfurls in his chest at the reminder of Dean’s go-to reward from their childhood. He starts to spoon the ice-cream into his mouth (pistachio, his favourite), but it’s cold. So cold. Out of the corner of his eye he can see Lucifer wink at him.

_Remind you of something, Sammy?_

Only Dean can call me that, Sam thinks fiercely; but he can’t bring himself to pick the ice-cream back up. Instead, he snatches at one of the bags, finding a big greasy cheeseburger inside.

“Double blue cheese on steak. Only the best for my little brother,” Dean says proudly.

Sam looks at the burger with distaste. He can almost see the grease dripping from it.

“Eat up,” Dean says more softly. “Gotta get some flesh on those bones.”

Sam’s vaguely aware that he’s losing weight, and this isn’t the first time that Dean’s referred to it. He knows this is Dean’s way of trying to look after him, so he takes a big bite, juice running into his mouth and cheese smearing across his lips.

“Good boy,” Dean says, deliberately patronising, and Sam throws the ice-cream at him.

***

The warmth from the burger, and Dean’s concern, can only last so long though. Sam wakes that night with a scream, the raw feeling in his throat suggesting it might not be the first.

He quickly realises that Dean’s not in his bed; nor is he in the bathroom. It’s late, very late, and Dean’s absence, on top of the lingering fear from the dream, makes Sam panic. 

By the time Dean comes back into the room, ice bucket full, Sam’s breath is whistling in his chest. 

“Sammy!” The bucket clangs as it hits the floor, Dean speeding across the room to Sam’s side. 

The second Dean’s hands cup his face, Sam’s breath eases. He struggles for a moment to coordinate his movements, feeling like all the synapses in his brain are shooting in different directions, but finally he manages to get his left hand on Dean’s right. He pulls Dean’s hand away from his face and pushes Dean’s thumb into the scar. It’s still new enough that it sends a dull pain aching through his hand, and Sam focuses on that pain until his breathing evens out some more.

When he comes back to himself, Dean has settled himself on the bed and is still cupping Sam’s face with his other hand. It feels so, so warm and incredibly good; and because all Sam’s defences are down, he nuzzles into Dean’s hand before he can think better of it. The loud, sarcastic _Awwwww_ from across the room is thankfully drowned out by Dean’s soft chuckle.

“Used to love me doing this when you were little,” Dean says, confidingly. His soothing tone seeps through Sam, and he tilts his head for more. “Used to sit with you for hours, especially when you were sick. You got an ear infection one time, that’s how it started. Do you remember?” 

Sam shakes his head minutely.

“I guess not. You were really, really small. You grew out of it by the time you were 7 or so.”

Sam can’t imagine why he would ever have wanted Dean to stop doing something that felt so nice. 

“Feeling better now?” Dean asks.

Sam nods, manages a small smile. Words are still a while away.

“Okay.” Dean presses his thumb against the scar. “Want anything? Water? Soda? Whiskey?” The last is said with a ridiculous little wink, and Sam snorts, then shakes his head. “Ok, Sammy.”

Dean sits next to him until Sam’s breathing is completely evened out. The problem is that once he can hear beyond his own breathing, he can once again hear Lucifer on the other side of the room.

_Aww, Sammy, look at you sitting with big brother. Feel all better now, don’t you?_ Lucifer is cooing, making ridiculous faux-sympathetic faces. _You think big brother loves you, don’t you? He wouldn’t love you if he knew about Hell._

Sam turns his face away at that, even though it means losing contact with Dean’s hand. Dean must take that as proof that Sam is feeling better, because he moves to stand up. But all Sam’s barriers are down tonight and it gives him the impetus to ask for what he’s been wanting for ages. 

As Dean tries to pull his hand out of Sam’s hold, Sam tightens his grip, and pulls Dean back down towards him. 

“No, Sammy? Still want me to stay?” 

Sam pulls harder. He still can’t quite get words to travel between his brain and his mouth; everything feels out of sync and out of his control. But he knows what he wants.

He pulls again, harder this time, and Dean jerks forwards. Sam uses his other hand to direct Dean down beside him, and settles back against his pillow.

Dean snickers, nervous. “Too big for this now, Sam. Come on, I bet you’ll fall right back asleep if you let me go back to my own bed.”

Sam doesn’t let go. Dean is tense against his side for a while, and Sam can almost hear his thoughts churning. But eventually, Dean relaxes. Pleased, Sam lets his eyes slip closed. 

They shoot back open again when Dean pulls away, and Sam makes grabby hands at his brother. It takes a moment, but Dean gets hold of his wrists and pushes them carefully against his chest.

“Just going to take my jacket off and hit the head. I’ll come right back here, I promise. But if you don’t let me go, we’re going to have a situation on our hands.”

Sure enough, Dean shrugs out of his jacket and heads to the bathroom, and within minutes he’s back at Sam’s side. Sam latches on to his hand immediately, pressing Dean’s thumb into his scar; and then before Dean’s brain has time to remember all the reasons why this might be a bad idea, he pulls Dean down against his side.

It takes them both a minute to get themselves sorted out. Dean struggles to get underneath the blankets, and Sam has to find a way to tuck his big frame into Dean’s chest without kneeing his brother in the balls. But they manage, and soon Dean is lying comfortably on his back, Sam’s head pillowed almost against his underarm and both Sam’s legs wrapped around him.

“You always were a fucking octopus,” Dean says, laugh rumbling in his chest. He picks up Sam’s left hand and presses his thumb again. “You gonna be able to sleep now?”

Sam nods. Blessed heat is spreading through him and it’s the warmest he’s felt in months (years, decades, who knows?). 

_Such a burden for big brother_ , Sam hears from across the room, but he can’t bring himself to care. Dean is here with him, holding him close, and Sam wants nothing more from his life right now.

“Night night, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, hand soft in Sam’s hair. Sam’s eyelids droop, and he slips into sleep.

**Author's Note:**

> Check out my [Tumblr](https://soy-em.tumblr.com/).


End file.
